Blades and Barriers
by FeatherWriter
Summary: Sylvanni has been acting as Inquisitor for so long that she's not sure who she is anymore. She's lost her clan, and with the pressures of leadership, she's set herself aside. But when a report comes that the tragedy of Clan Lavellan's fall might not have been the unfortunate accident she'd been led to believe, the Inquisitor will find justice for her clan, and hope to find herself.
1. Prologue: Alone

Inquisitor Sylvanni Lavellan hated going to bed.

The door to her personal chambers in Skyhold closed behind her with a solid sounding click, and she leaned back against it, head lolling back to rest against the wood and eyes closed. She wished the day wasn't over. She wished everyone else was still awake and about. She wished her own tired exhaustion would have let her avoid sleeping just a little longer.

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the rooms themselves. In fact, she had some of the nicest rooms in the keep, and certainly the best view from her balconies. They were well furnished, beautifully designed, and altogether what one would expect for the most powerful member of a powerful institution like the Inquisition.

And yet, she hated every moment she had to spend in her quarters, because as soon as she left the main hall behind, she was alone. The one thing she could not stomach about her rooms was that they were always, unfailingly empty. No company but herself.

She simply stood, leaning back against the door on feet tired from a long day, focusing on the feeling of her body's own soreness as a way to distract herself. Surrounded by the multitudes of friends and allies as she was during the day, it was not loneliness which made her dread retiring each night, but rather, fear.

With no one else around her, there was no escape from her thoughts. An actor could not take the stage with no audience. No one wore a mask when they had no one to hide from. A storyteller could spin no tales if no one would listen.

Sylvanni could not be the Inquisitor with no one around to need her.

She'd taken on the part so well, she hardly remembered what her life had been like before the events at Haven. It started as a survival tactic. She had been a prisoner, and would have done anything to convince the Inquisition that she was innocent, that she meant no harm. She'd stepped into the responsibility of closing the rifts in the Fade because she was the only person who could. She'd taken on the mantle of Herald of Andraste for the protection the new status could afford her, realizing that if she was no one special, she was likely to end up imprisoned, dead, or Tranquil.

Then, it had started to give people hope. She saw that her position, the ideal that she was coming to represent, was helping people through a time of chaos and uncertainty. Playing the part of the Herald didn't feel natural to her, but it felt like the right thing to do at least. When she was asked to become the Inquisitor, it simply seemed like another necessary responsibility, another chance to do good by the people of Thedas. She felt she could lead this group well, make something of the Inquisition. Make it powerful enough that they could challenge and defeat Corypheus.

It had to be done. Someone had to do it. Someone had to step up and be the Herald. Be the Inquisitor. The Inquisition needed a leader, or they would fall and falter. It simply happened to be her. All she could do was give them her best, couldn't she?

She had become what they needed her to be. A religious figure as the Herald of Andraste, a symbol of hope and fate. A fair judge, presiding over wrongdoers from her throne, and choosing punishments that had to be deserved and just. A tactician, moving resources and troops across the table and the continent. A politician, able to decipher the intrigue and plots of Thedas' most powerful nobles and rules, and savvy enough to hold her own in the twisted machinations of the Game.

To her companions, she needed to be different things as well, and she did her best to adapt to what they needed. A listening ear for Varric. A comrade in arms to Blackwall. An employer and occasional drinking partner for Bull. A best friend for Sera. A foundation for Cassandra. A protégée for Vivienne. A kinswoman to Solas. A family for Dorian. A protector for Cole.

To Cullen's soldiers, she was the banner waving at the front lines of the army. Leliana's spies saw her as the keystone, the one holding all of the secrets and seeing the full picture. She was leverage for Josephine, a name with influence that could be used to move their opponents and allies as needed.

So many needs, so many things she needed to be if she wished to see them succeed. The burden of being the Inquisitor wasn't the responsibility for one role, but adapting to the mask as it changed, shifting faces and actions and self to match her situation, like a chameleon's scales against an ever-changing, never-ending sequence of backgrounds.

But who was she when she was alone? When those needs dropped away in the small hours of the night, when her responsibilities laid themselves down from her shoulders to rest until the next day, who _was _she? She couldn't remember anymore. That terrified her. Terrified her beyond words.

In these nights, surrounded by the quiet of her chambers with no company but her own, her fears haunted her. They whispered that she'd worn the mask for too long, that there was nothing underneath the persona of the Inquisitor. That she'd faked her way through everything she'd needed to be that she didn't know what was real anymore. If there _was _any part of her that was still real.

She undressed and readied herself for bed, feeling a horrible emptiness within, like a puppet putting itself away for the night. She tried to think of who she'd been before the Inquisition, before Haven. She loved her clan, but there had always been something about her that didn't fit in with them. She'd done her duty as First, excelled at her studies in magic, but there was always a slight tension between her and her fellow clanmates. Resentment because she'd been the First? Jealousy that she'd picked up magic quickly? A part of her still wondered if she'd been sent to spy at the Conclave because she didn't quite click with those she'd grown up with. Perhaps they'd thought she could serve Clan Lavellan better away from them.

Now it didn't matter who she'd been then. Clan Lavellan was gone. She hadn't been able to serve them at all. She'd read the report on her own, hearing from Josephine's negotiators that her clan had been scattered – those that hadn't been killed. She remembered reading those words, that nothing could have been done to save them, hitting her like a blow to her chest. She'd found a quiet spot alone, down in the broken, dusty prison cells, and had cried herself dry over the loss of them. That had been back in Haven, but it hurt her still, like an old wound that didn't ever heal right, sore and aching with every day, every hour, every moment. She still hadn't talked to anyone about it. She couldn't find the words.

Perhaps it was better, not having anything to tie her to her past. Nothing to distract her from her duties in the present, right? It wasn't as though she would have been able to go back now. Word of the Herald of Andraste had spread through the Chantries of Orlais and Ferelden, possibly farther. Now, the name Inquisitor Lavellan was known far and wide, and she was fast becoming a leader to rival the powers of Empress Celene or King Alistair and Queen Anora. If she defeated Corypheus – and the alternative was unthinkable – she had little doubt she would take her place as a figure of legend. An unsettling thought, that, but in terms of the burdens she had to carry, it was simply another on the list.

Regardless, she wouldn't have ever been able to go back. Stepping back down to be Keeper of Clan Lavellan never would have worked. Even if they had survived, another First would have been appointed while she was away. They would have gone on without her. One way or another, she would have left Lavellan behind forever. The young Dalish mage Sylvanni wasn't what the Inquisition needed. She'd set that version of herself aside, and now she'd moved on too far to pick it up again. She didn't know who she'd become in the meantime, beneath it all. She feared she hadn't become anyone at all.

She lay back in a bed that almost seemed too soft, as it always did after she returned to the keep after a few weeks sleeping on the road, and stared up at the lofted ceiling. Quiet nights on her own, she felt so empty. Try as she might to keep her mind focused on what still needed to be done and her responsibilities, the dangers of her introspection circled, lying in wait and watching for a weak point to strike. She never felt weaker than when the mask dropped away. Her inner demons had nothing to do with the Fade. What would the Inquisition think if it found out their leader's greatest fear was nothing more than herself?

She forced her eyes closed, trying to will her body's exhaustion to pull her into unconsciousness. Those questions of who she was, who she would be when this was all over, who she had become, seemed to whisper at her from all sides. She knew they were always there, always haunting her, but the silence seemed to only make them stronger.

She told herself that it didn't matter who she was. Not until this was over. The Inquisition did not need Sylvanni Lavellan, whoever she might be. Thedas did not need her. They needed the Inquisitor, and until this was all over, that was who she would be. She clung to that rationale like a lifeline, pushing away thoughts of herself for another day, and waited for sleep to claim her.


	2. A Request

Sylvanni Lavellan paused outside of Cullen's slightly opened door, listening to the sound of his voice inside with a smile. Something about the way he talked just seemed to relax her, especially after a long day of training. She didn't pay attention to what was being said, but decided not to linger too long, lest she seem to be eavesdropping.

With a small knock of warning, she pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside. "Commander?"

Cullen looked up, eyebrows raising just a touch when he saw who it was. "Inquisitor." He turned back to the captain he'd been speaking with. "I think that was everything. I'd like those reports by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Commander."

"You are dismissed, Captain."

The woman saluted, then turned to leave, sheepishly averting her eyes from Sylvanni after an embarrassed moment of eye contact. Sylvanni plastered a kind smile on her face, hoping she wasn't blushing. She knew rumors had started circling the keep about her relationship with the Commander, but that didn't make the sidelong glances from seemingly everyone any less awkward to endure.

As the door shut behind the soldier, Cullen's expression softened. "It's good to see you."

She absently pulled her hair from behind her ears, letting it fall forward to cover them. "I was wondering if you had some free time this afternoon?"

"For you? Always." He straightened a few reports on his desk. "Were you hoping we could take a stroll out on the battlements later?"

Sylvanni blushed, realizing how similar her request had sounded to her usual requests for alone time with him. "Actually, I was looking for something other than a kiss today. Not that that doesn't sound lovely, though."

He blinked, seeming embarrassed, though he tried to cover it with a nervous sounding cough. Though her intention hadn't been to fluster him, she had to admit there was something endearing about seeing him put off balance. "Oh, well. Of course. What did you have in mind?"

"It's somewhat of a strange request, actually," she said. "I was wondering if you might be willing to teach me how to use a sword."

His eyebrows drew together. "Teach you to use a sword? That's… not something many mages would request. Have you decided to stop using a staff for some reason?"

"Not… exactly." She walked forward, sitting down on the edge of his desk. "Do you remember the operation to recruit experts to train me?"

He nodded, though his expression said he wasn't following.

"I've decided to take Commander Helaine as my tutor. You are looking at the newest member of the order of Knight-Enchanters."

She pulled out the newly forged hilt of her blade to show him, though she didn't summon the power to form the sword itself. Learning the basics of how to use the weapon had been her task of the last few days, and Helaine had finally decided she was competent enough to use it on her own, though it would take practice to master, of course.

Cullen stepped forward to get a closer look. "A Knight-Enchanter? That's an impressive choice."

His tone was nothing but supportive, yet she felt a twinge of self-consciousness. Did he think it was foolish? A girl like her trying to fight on the front lines? The Keeper had called hers a "mage's figure"; petite and slender, even for an elf. A part of her still wondered if she wouldn't be better off staying back and casting from afar.

Cullen's line of thinking seemed to be mirroring her own. "Are you sure you want to fight on the front lines of battle?"

She had learned quickly to hide insecurities behind confidence when she'd stepped into the role of Inquisitor. "What?" she asked him, with a self-assured smile. "You think I can't handle myself in a close quarters fight?"

"No, of course not," he said, quickly trying to backtrack. "I was only trying to-"

She laid a hand on his arm, cutting him off. "Cullen, it's okay. I… understand why you'd ask. I've been thinking the same things since I decided to do this. Since before that, even, if I'm being honest. I didn't mean to sound contrary with you. I've just gotten used to acting defensive against critiques while playing Inquisitor that I don't always know when to stop."

"_Play_ Inquisitor, Lavellan?"

She sighed. "Surely you of all people would realize how much of a mask that persona is. You're one of the few people with whom I feel comfortable letting it down."

He gave a small nod, sitting down beside her on the desk. The feathers of his cape brushed her ear. "I suppose it seems to come to you so naturally, even I forget."

"I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose."

"It was meant to be one. Inquis…" He paused, amending his address. "Sylvanni, you're a natural leader, and I believe you were exactly what the Inquisition needed. I have worked closely with people in positions of power for a good part of my life, and I don't know that I have ever seen someone placed under such pressure perform so admirably. Even aside from your situation, I have never served under a better leader."

She couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Sera's influence, no doubt. "You mean I'm not the only leader you've 'served under'?"

"Maker's breath," he swore, cheeks turning nearly as red as his cape. "That's not at all what I was trying to-"

She pulled his head sideways, and cut him off with a quick kiss. "I know, but I couldn't resist." She sat back and leaned against his arm. "I have thought about these things, however. I know I'm not exactly the picture of a front lines warrior, but there's just something that feels right about being as close to the action as possible. You can't understand your enemy, you can't feel the fight standing back and out of danger. I don't feel entirely comfortable letting others take blows for me when I might be able to help by fighting at their side.

"It's been that way with the Inquisition as a whole, as well. Even if I weren't the only one capable of closing the rifts, I don't think I'd be content to stay in Skyhold and direct our resources from the war table alone. We do a lot of good that way, but I need to be out there, doing things on my own, and fixing problems firsthand. Staying clear of the action has never been an appealing choice to me, Cullen.

"I didn't come here to talk the Inquisition, however." Absently, she started tossing her bladeless hilt with her off hand. "I know you're very busy with, well, being the Commander, and everything. If you don't have time, I'm sure Cassandra or Blackwall could help me with this. I simply thought I should ask you first, as you _are _my first choice."

"I appreciate hearing that I'm your top candidate," he said, the blush in his cheeks still slowly fading away from her teasing. "I have some free time tomorrow, if you'd like. Are you certain I'm the right person to be training you, however? I imagine using a Knight-Enchanter's blade is rather different from a regular sword. I'm not sure I will be of much help."

"Commander Helaine has assured me that they are entirely different, actually," she said. "My training in how to use the spirit blade is almost entirely her teaching, though Vivienne has given me a few tips in passing since she heard."

"If the two are so different…"

"Why would I ask to learn?" She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. "It just felt right, I suppose. If I'm going to be up close with the enemy, I want to understand how their strategy and tactics work, even if I'm not using them myself. There's a part of me that thinks if I'm going to be using a sword, even a magical one, I ought to know the basics of using a real one as well. I don't expect I'll be trading my staff for a sword out in the field any time soon, but I'd be a somewhat embarrassing knight if I couldn't handle myself around a normal sword when I needed to."

He nodded a few times. "That makes sense. I have a few hours of open time after midday tomorrow if you'd like to meet then. I could requisition one of the spaces atop the towers to give us some privacy."

She smiled. "I appreciate that. Probably best if the men don't see their Inquisitor fumbling about with a sword for the first time."

"I agree." He stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. "I, however, am looking forward to seeing you out of your element. You seem to take to these things so naturally, I think I could use a reminder that you're still human."

Sylvanni raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, then not-so-subtly raised a hand to tap her ear.

Cullen winced. "Er, elven. Sorry. You knew what I meant."

She smiled at him, raising up on tiptoes to give him a small kiss on the cheek. "Yes, I did, Commander. I'll see you tomorrow. And, thank you for this. It means a lot to me."

He bowed his head as she started to walk away. "Any time, Inquisitor."


	3. Motion and Cadence

"Before we begin," Cullen said, shrugging out of his cape and gently folding it on a bench, "I'd like to see what you already know."

It was a warm afternoon, despite the altitude of Skyhold, and Sylvanni was sure Cullen was grateful for the excuse to get out from under his heavy feather mantle. She herself was wearing a lighter tunic and pants than the usual formal clothes she wore around the keep, something that gave her a good range of motion and that she wouldn't worry about sweating in.

"Are you sure you're not just curious what the blade looks like in action?" Despite her teasing tone, she stepped up to one of the training dummies, pulling out the spirit blade hilt.

"I _have _seen Knight-Enchanters before, you know," he said, leaning back against the stone wall of the tower top. "Though never this closely, I'll admit. Regardless, the first step in training someone is assessing what the student already knows."

Sylvanni turned to face the target, falling into the stance Helaine had taught and adjusting her grip on the hilt. "The tactics of a Knight-Enchanter," she quoted, "are founded in two principles: motion and cadence."

She stepped forward, swinging her arm as the blade lanced forth from her hand in a burst of light. "Motion. The spirit blade is not a weapon meant to be held static. Slashes and sweeps must combine speed and precision. One should use the momentum of the strike to help conjure the blade, imagining that the blade is being flung forth from the hand with the initiation and retracted on the back swing."

She timed her slashes with her steps, making her way around the dummy as she worked as she'd been taught. She thought the stuffed wooden figure had been enchanted to resist spirit energy, which explained why she wasn't slicing it to ribbons with every stroke.

"Cadence," she continued. "It is the folly of the novice to try to summon the blade once and keep it held steady. Despite the appearance of the blade, it is a spell, not a tangible weapon, for which the hilt is merely the focus. Holding the spell is foolishness, and will only leave the mage drained, weak, and powerless. There must be a rhythm to its casting and a rhythm to its use. It is most efficient to use the blade in cadence, calling and dismissing, in and out, matching casts with breaths and steps. Energy expended to create, followed by a breath of pause to recover for the next."

She finished the exercise, making the full circuit to where she'd begun, then turned back to look at Cullen. Her heartbeat was elevated, but not racing. Helaine had been running her through these drills for the past week, often asking her to explain while she worked as she'd done here. Vocal reinforcement of the ideas, she'd said. Talking was meant to keep her focused and controlled as she worked lest she attempt to throw all of her energy into the attacks.

She felt a small surge of pride in seeing the impressed look on Cullen's face. "Commander Helaine has trained you well, I see," he said. "You weren't joking when you said the form was rather different from that of a normal sword, however."

She nodded, slipping the hilt back into its tailored loop on her belt. "That's why I'm here."

He stood up fully, carrying a dulled practice sword over to her. "Here. Your grip should be the similar, at least. However, you'll want to hold this sword firmly enough that you won't lose it, yet not so tightly that you hurt your hand when it strikes something."

He pulled his own sword free from the scabbard at his waist and she could see that he was carrying a practice blade as well. Now it was his turn to step up to the target and fall into stance to demonstrate. He didn't run through a full routine as she had, just made a few practice strikes at the dummy, sword making rhythmic _thunks_ against the wood as the dull blade hit.

He turned back toward her. "You said that using your blade was all about motion. The basics of using a real sword comes down to stability. We drill recruits on their footwork and stances because being able to keep balanced and steady in a fight is the most important aspect of using a sword. If your opponent can knock you over, they will win."

She nodded, running a hand along the flat of the sword. "Makes sense."

"A steel sword won't pass through your enemies without effort."

She grinned at him. "Unless perhaps Bull were the one using it."

He chuckled. "Unless perhaps Bull were the one using it. Those of us with less than a Qunari's strength have to make do how we can. What's important to remember about a regular sword is that a soldier's armor should not be the first line of defense. The sword should be. It is as much a tool for attack as it is for defense. Properly learning to block and parry incoming attacks without losing control is as crucial as learning to strike properly. All of that comes from a stable stance."

Sylvanni nodded again, trying to mimic the stance he'd used. She was starting to realize that these kinds of things were more about feeling it correctly than simply copying the appearance. If this was anything like Knight-Enchanter training, it would probably take her a little while to find the stance correctly, but once she had it, she'd be able to get back to it easily enough.

She placed her feet, like she thought he had, but 'balance and stability' weren't the words that came to mind to describe how she felt. "I… don't think this is quite right."

He sheathed his sword. "Here, let me help you." He reached forward as if to adjust her shoulders, then pulled back just before touching her, deciding instead to try to talk her into correcting the stance instead by describing what was wrong. He would have her fix something about the way she was standing - her feet's width, the height of her elbows, the rotation of her shoulders - and then stand back and inspect. Each time he came forward, she noticed that he'd start to reach to shift her, then pull himself away and talk through it instead.

She watched him pull back for what must have been the tenth time, and finally tipped her head in his direction with a questioning look. "Cullen, is everything okay?"

He stopped, a frown touching his lips. "Of course, why do you ask?"

She dropped the stance, making sure she'd be able to get back to it before she did, and fell into a relaxed posture with her hand on her hip. "You seem nervous, and you're acting strange."

The frown deepened. "Strange, how?"

"You keep acting like you're going to fix something about my stance, and then draw back before you do."

"Ah," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to..." He sighed. "It seemed… improper, I suppose. If I were training a female recruit one-on-one, it would be best if I kept physical contact to a minimum."

She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I appreciate that on behalf of our female recruits, but if it would be easier for you to teach me by moving me into the stance, you're perfectly welcome to. I mean, I'm not just any female recruit. I think you and I have stolen enough kisses on the battlements for you to know I don't have a problem with physical contact, Cullen. Especially with you."

"Well, when you say it like that, I suppose it sounds a bit silly of me," he said. "I simply… This is a different situation than a stroll on the battlements, and I wouldn't want to seem to be taking advantages. I didn't want you to feel like I was grabbing you, or forcing you to do anything. I've always hated watching captains who feel like they have the right to manhandle those under their command to get them in line. I've served under several as well and it was never a pleasant experience."

"I imagine not," she said with a reassuring smile. "I don't think your caution was silly at all. It's sweet. Respectful, even. I appreciate it. If it makes things easier for you, though, you have my full permission to move me as you please. I don't mind at all."

He gave a small nod. "It does, actually. Thank you." He started forward, then paused again. "You're sure?"

She shot him a flat look. "Cullen. It's fine." She fell back into stance, practice sword held before her.

Finally, she felt, the lesson began. He started with her grip. His hands, so much larger than hers, calloused and scarred from the life of a soldier, enveloped her own, shifting her, holding her grip secure. He moved to her arms next, working on each side to adjust the angle of her wrists, then elbows, then shoulders. From shoulders, he moved back, standing behind her and turning her, ever so gently to straighten her out. A soft pressure right between her shoulder blades, inching her balance forward, off of her heels and onto the balls of her feet.

His hands moved downward, holding her hips, shifting her with infinitesimal precision. Despite her explicitly given permission, his corrections were soft and his touch was gentle, hands never lingering longer than they needed to. He knelt down on one knee, fixing her feet and legs, then quickly upward again to check that she hadn't changed anything.

"There," he said, nodding in approval as he stepped back and looked her over. She tried to commit the pose to memory. "How does that feel?"

It felt _right_, and she tried to commit the pose to memory. "Solid, and steady," she said. "Standing like this, I feel like I'd be able to find off an attack if it came."

He laughed, a warm sound to match the afternoon weather. "Don't get ahead of yourself just yet. You have a long way to go before I would call you a swordswoman. Let's focus on the stance for now, and worry about fending off attacks later. Relax and shake yourself loose, then try to get back into stance again."

She did as asked, and when she was back in position, he checked her over again. Careful touches from him corrected form, spacing, and balance once more, though there were fewer this time than the first set up. The time after that, even fewer. A tiny part of Sylvanni thought about messing up intentionally, as there was something comforting about the gentle pushes and pulls, but doing that wouldn't help her learn.

By the end of the afternoon, she was able to assume the proper stance with little to no correction, and Cullen had begun to teach her a few basic thrusts and slashes. He was an excellent instructor, blending clear explanation, demonstration, and tactile reinforcement to help her grasp the techniques. She was well aware how far she had to go before she would even be considered passable with a sword, but so long as she could learn from him, she felt she had a good chance.

Beyond that, she couldn't think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon of free time. She was surprised when the evening bells rang, unable to believe she had spent so much time with him already. She felt tired, after running drills and techniques all afternoon, and the steel practice sword wasn't nearly as light to swing about as the ethereal spirit blade, but it was the weariness of a hard day's work. The loose weakness she felt in her arms and legs promised soreness tomorrow, but she felt it was a small price to pay for the experience.

Cullen waited for the bells to stop before speaking. "I think that would be as good a signal as any to dismiss this session. We probably ought to wash before dinner as well. I think Josephine nearly ran me from the keep the last time I tried to sit for a meal without cleaning up first. I'm not sure she would demand that the Inquisitor leave, however."

Sylvanni ran a hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat there. "I think it best we don't antagonize poor Josephine any more than usual. Besides, I think getting clean sounds like an excellent idea." She glanced down at her loose practice clothing. "This isn't exactly proper dinner attire anyway."

He picked up his cape and mantle from where he'd laid them on the bench, forgoing putting them on in the heat and leaving the heavy fabric and feathers folded over his arm instead. "You're a very quick learner, Sylvanni. You may not have a warrior's physique, but you have an excellent sense of yourself. You remember techniques and corrections with remarkable accuracy."

"I've learned to become a quick learner at a lot of things, these past few months, Cullen," she said. She broke into a smile before she could dwell too long on that thought. "But haven't you ever been told it isn't polite to comment on a lady's physique?"

He smiled back, her teasing tone enough to keep him from feeling embarrassed. "Then I shall comment on her mind instead, when I say that she is one of the finest students I've had the pleasure of teaching. If you would like me to help you like this again, I would be more than willing to do so."

She walked up to him, standing on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. "As guilty as I feel for stealing away the Inquisition's Commander for an entire afternoon, I do think that would be lovely." She handed the practice sword back to him.

"What is the Inquisition's Commander, if he is not also the Inquisitor's Commander, Inquisitor?"

She smiled. "A valid point, that. I do think we need to be going, however, if we do not wish to be late, Commander."

Their quarters were in opposite directions, and with his things gathered, Cullen started to walk back towards his tower as Sylvanni turned toward the main keep. "Will I see you at dinner, then?" he asked, walking backward to stay facing her.

She nodded, calling over her shoulder. "Let us hope Josephine finds no reason to send either of us out!"


	4. Shared Experience

_**-AN: Worldstate Info for Dragon Age Origins: **__The Hero of Ferelden in this story was a female elven mage named Eliane Surana.__ She survived the Blight, and remained Alistair's mistress after having him become king and marry Anora. __Cullen has already told Sylvanni that he knew Eliane when she was in the circle, and admitted that he'd once had a crush on her__**.**__-_

"Cullen?" Sylvanni asked, leaned back against him in front of the fire.

It was a cold night in Skyhold, with a snowstorm blowing in over the mountains. Most training exercises and operations had finished early for the day, with everyone headed indoors to keep warm. Fire pits and hearths were lit all over the keep, and she'd heard the tavern was full to bursting.

The Inquisitor and Commander had found a quiet enough corner in the main hall, over near where Varric usually stood, though the storytelling dwarf was absent for the moment. Perhaps it was untoward of Sylvanni to have been sitting so close with Cullen out in the open like this, but there were few enough seats in the hall that it was justifiable, she thought. Besides, it wasn't as if most of the Inquisition was unaware of her involvement with him, even if they did usually try to keep their relationship out of public spaces out of respect.

"Hmm?" He'd pulled his cape and mantle over her small shoulders as they'd sat, and it was blessedly warm as she leaned against him. The chairs around their table had been stolen away to other hearths and tables, leaving the two of them with some open space around them, if not actual privacy.

"Do you ever wish I was human?"

He stayed silent for a long moment. "Why do you ask that?"

She didn't look up to try to read his reaction, and she wasn't entirely able to gauge how he felt about the question from tone alone. Was he upset for her, surprised that she'd been thinking this? Guilty, as though she'd stumbled on the truth? She couldn't be sure. She prayed it wasn't the last.

"I mean, it's obvious that the Inquisition would have been better off if I weren't Dalish, isn't it? Half of the heresy surrounding the idea that I was the Herald came from the fact that Andraste would never have chosen an elf as her representative. Those sidelong glances and under-the-breath comments at Halamshiral conveyed that idea rather clearly. 'Oh, no that can't be the Inquisitor, I'm sure she's just a servant or something.' No one would question a human Inquisitor. Not for the reasons they question me. How many opportunities have we missed on account of prejudices against people like me?"

He leaned his head forward over her shoulder, trying to catch sight of her expression. She looked down, not meeting his eyes, but she didn't need to in order to read the worry in him.

"Sylvanni," he said quietly. "Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?" The arm wrapped around her shoulders tightened slightly, the soft embrace turning protective. "If one of our men..."

She laid a hand on his knee, stopping him. "No one said anything to me, Cullen. Josephine took care of that in my first few weeks. But no one needed to say anything about me for me to know it to be true."

"It isn't true," he said, his voice firm. "You were, and are, exactly what the Inquisition needed. What's making you think like this? I thought you were proud of your Dalish heritage."

"I am," she said. "But I can be proud of something while recognizing it as a weakness to our position."

"Yes," he said slowly, "someone human may have originally had an easier time gaining allies, but that's not important. Think of the things that you, as a Dalish elf, can accomplish. You have influence that few Dalish ever have, and I see you using that to make things better for them. Your showing at Halamshiral showed that you're every bit as competent as the Orlesian nobility. More so even. I think it does the courtiers good to be beaten at their own Game, especially by someone they underestimated. You showed them that they were wrong about you. You're showing the entire world that they're wrong about the Dalish."

She fell quiet at that, mulling his words over. She realized absently that the way they were sitting, with his arm and cape wrapped around her, there wasn't any question about their relationship. She told herself that it was okay because no one was really paying attention to them, but if she was being honest, she really just didn't care anymore tonight.

"I just don't want to be a liability," she said softly.

"You aren't," he said, still holding her tightly. "Not everything has to be about the Inquisition. You are more than simply the Inquisitor, Sylvanni. You've given so much for this cause. You'll only make yourself mad feeling guilty over things you cannot give up. And shouldn't give up, even if it were possible. You're Dalish, and you're proud to be so. That isn't something to feel bad about, certainly not on account of something so trivial as our political status."

She felt a small warmth inside that had nothing to do with the fire, a little glow in the center of her chest. He was probably right. And hearing his words made her fears retreat, just slightly. A small step back, a little more breathing room in her mind. As her fears about herself made space, however, another related fear started making whispers.

"You technically haven't answered the question," she said slowly, wondering if pursuing this line of thought was a good idea at all. "The Inquisition aside, would _you _prefer if I were human?"

Cullen stilled, realizing what she meant, and his grip on her arm loosened. "I... Of course not. Is that something you believed? I would never… I wouldn't dream of changing a single thing about you."

It was the answer she had expected, and she believed he was sincere. However, that wasn't necessarily the worry that she'd had. His hand reached up to gently brush against her hair - and her ears beneath the dark brown locks - and she forced herself not to react to the affectionate touch.

_I shouldn't ask,_ she thought. _That should be enough for me, and I should leave it at that. _She almost did. But that little fear would keep nagging at her, she knew, and she might never have an opportunity while they were on this topic again. _I shouldn't ask… but I _need _to know._

"So, would you say that you… prefer me, because I am an elf, then?"

His hand froze, mid-stroke.

With the embarrassing question hanging out in the air, somehow Sylvanni's mind decided that the best way to fix this was to keep talking, perhaps in hopes that she'd be able to bury the awkwardness with more words. She should have realized she would only dig herself in deeper.

"I mean," she said quickly, wishing she'd never brought the topic up, "I've heard that there are men who have a preference for elven women. Small stature, delicate features, perhaps even the _vallaslin_ are alluring to some."

"Sylvanni…" Cullen's voice sounded strained.

She should have let him talk, but she feared his answer. "I know you mentioned the Hero of Ferelden too, your… youthful infatuation, yes? She was an elven mage too, wasn't she? I've seen portraits of her, in markets and the like, and I can't help but notice... similarities. A mage, an elf, brown hair, blue eyes. She wasn't Dalish, so she didn't have _vallaslin_, but even so I-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Cullen turned her quickly, leaning down and cutting her off by pressing his lips to her own. He closed his eyes, and there was something forceful in the kiss, as though he was trying to make her understand something by the action. Her eyes went wide, a panic rising as her worries about his affection suddenly flared up with worries that they were in public, people would see them and she would…

Then it all just simply faded away. He held onto her, insistently, and she simply closed her eyes and relaxed, letting her mind forget for a moment that anything existed outside of the two of them.

He finally pulled back, meeting her eyes with a deep stare. She suspected he'd used the kiss to give himself a moment to think, and a small part of her found it ironic that his pause for thought had shut her mind down completely. She found her heart racing, breath coming just a little bit faster, though surely it hadn't lasted very long.

"Sylvanni," he said, the name spoken slowly and calmly. "You are a beautiful woman, and I thought Eliane was a beautiful woman as well. But you must know that my affection for you is so much deeper than anything as shallow as your appearance or your race. I care about you because you are kind, compassionate, determined, and decisive. You are an amazing leader and an even more incredible person. _That _is why I care about you, Sylvanni. You must know that."

His expression was serious, tone insistent. She stared back for a long moment before she finally smiled and reached up to give him a small kiss, lips just brushing together. Then she pulled close to him, pressing her head against his chest. When they'd begun this night, she'd had her back against his chest, both of them facing the fire. Over the course of the conversation, she'd ended up turned to face him, curling up as close to him as she could.

"I'm sorry, I do know that. I shouldn't have asked at all," she said quietly, head tucked against his shoulder. "It was rude of me, but… I had to know, Cullen. I didn't really think… but I had to know."

He placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow, even circles between her shoulder blades. "It's all right. I understand, Sylvanni. You don't need to explain anything."

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, and she just savored the feeling of being safe in Skyhold. She was used to a life out on the road, travelling far and wide, falling asleep each day miles from where she'd woken up that morning. Dalish clans were nomadic, of course. But there was something to be said for having one place to call home. It was a new concept for her, but one to which she was swiftly growing accustomed. She felt as though she could spend forever like this, with the snowy mountain wind howling outside, and she safely indoors, warm from the fire, from his cloak wrapped around her, and from Cullen himself holding her close.

Eventually she spoke up, voice slightly muffled with her head on his shoulder. "You called her Eliane."

"Hmm?"

"The Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander Surana," she said. "You're on first-name terms with her?"

She could feel his chest move as he chuckled. "I suppose I probably shouldn't be," he said. "If we were to meet now, we would be almost like strangers, I should think. I knew her for years in the Circle, though, and there's a part of me that still thinks of her as my friend from my time in Lake Calenhad, before the Blight, before she joined the Wardens. We were close, as I told you, perhaps closer than we should have been, though nothing untoward ever happened between us. Especially considering that I attended her Harrowing. That almost feels like a different life, now."

"Harrowings," she said, unable to keep from frowning. "_Shemlen_ always call the Dalish 'savages', but we aren't the ones who intentionally lure demons to young mages and murder them if they aren't strong enough to fight them off."

"I…" Cullen's voice sounded hurt, just the faintest bit. "There is a lot that is wrong with the Circles, I can agree. That is a part of why I left."

She cursed herself inwardly. _He was a Templar, Sylvanni. He probably 'murdered' any number of abominations, as you just accused him. From the sound of it, that isn't something he's proud of, and you were insensitive enough to bring it up._

"I heard rumors about her, the Warden-Commander, I mean," she said, grasping for a topic that would move away from the Circles without being a complete non-sequitur. "Is it true that she and the King of Ferelden…?"

"Ah," he said, "Leliana and Morrigan actually traveled with her. I'm sure they would know better than I, if you are truly curious. It would not surprise me, though. She and King Alistair worked together very closely to stop the Blight, and they were two of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden after the Battle of Ostagar. If it is true, he is a lucky man."

He paused and pulled away from her just enough to look down. She met his eyes in return, and he smiled. "But I am luckier by far."

She couldn't help but smile. "Luckier than the King of Ferelden?"

He leaned down and kissed her again, long and lingering this time, then pulled her close to whisper into her hair. "I would not trade you for all the kingdoms of Thedas."

She wrapped her arms around him as well beneath the cloak, closing her eyes with a smile. "Nor I you."


	5. Company

Sylvanni didn't realize she'd fallen asleep in front of the fire until she woke up to someone setting her down gently on her bed. She made a small noise, blinking as she made out Cullen's features above her in the dim light of her quarters.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I did not mean to wake you. The hall had mostly emptied by the time I realized you'd fallen asleep, and I thought it best that I not disturb you. It was only a short distance to carry you up here."

Her mind immediately latched onto a worry: 'mostly emptied.' Who had seen her, even if there were only a few? It probably wasn't good for her people to see the Inquisitor being carried to bed by the Commander of her armies, like a child having foolishly attempted to stay up past her bedtime. What was done was done, however, and she didn't need to focus on that right now.

"Thank you, Cullen," she said. "That was very kind."

He lowered his head briefly, though whether it was a nod of acknowledgement for her thanks or a small bow as he excused himself, she couldn't say. Perhaps both. "I should leave you to your rest, Inquisitor. Goodnight." He started to walk toward the door.

"Wait, Cullen," she said quickly, feeling her fears begin to rise within her. Alone in her quarters, trapped in solitude. That emptiness gnawing at her from within, those thoughts surrounding her, whispering that nothing about her was real.

She knew the words were spoken in a moment of weakness, but she couldn't face them tonight, not when he was right here. Not when he could keep them at bay. He was real. If there was one thing in her life that was, it came from him. Normally she could steel herself to face her inner demons each night, mentally prepare for her fears, but to wake up and have safety so close, only to let him leave her behind and fall into that darkness… she couldn't do it.

Not tonight.

He paused, looking back. He'd called her by her title - normally the sign between them that their personal time was over - but she'd used his name instead of confirming the farewell with his title. She knew he was considering the implications of that. "Sylvanni?"

"Don't go. Please."

He seemed to consider the request for a long while. They both knew this was dangerous territory. It was night, and she was asking him to stay with her in her quarters. "Is… everything alright?"

"I just…" She sighed. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

His posture shifted: defensive. "I don't know if that would be a good id-"

"Not like that," she said, cutting him off before he could finish saying no. "You're right, that would be a bad idea, so I'm not asking you to do anything improper. But… I need someone here. I can't face myself tonight. I don't think I can handle being alone with my thoughts and I'm afraid if you leave, they'll suffocate me." Her voice was trembling by the end of her plea.

His expression softened into concern as he saw that it was fear, not seduction, which had moved her to call him back. Slowly he walked back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Sylvanni, what's going on? Are you okay?"

She shook her head gently, embarrassed to find herself close to tears. "I'm afraid, Cullen. Do you ever feel like you're not real? Like you're only pretending to be someone else? Like you've been pretending for so long that you don't remember who you actually are underneath it all?"

Cullen frowned. "You're afraid that you aren't real?"

"I haven't been real since I stepped out of the Fade at Haven," she said, pulling her knees up in a defensive posture and resting her forehead on top of them.

She couldn't see his expression anymore, but his voice sounded concerned. "You think that walking in the Fade, that mark on your hand - you think that changed you? Changed something about who you are?"

"Not in the way that you're thinking," she whispered. "The Inquisition changed me. The responsibility of what everyone needs me to be. What Thedas needs me to be. I told myself at the very beginning that I would do whatever it took to prove I was innocent, and that turned into 'whatever it took to seal the Breach.' Now the Inquisition needs me to do whatever it takes to defeat Corypheus. I can't be myself when the fate of the world is literally in the palm of my hand. I have to be more than that. So much more than that."

"Sylvanni…" He laid a hand on her foot gently.

"I've been wearing this mask for too long now. I don't know who I am when I take it off anymore. What is the real me like, underneath all of this? Does she even exist anymore? What am I going to be when all of this is over? I find myself clinging to what the Inquisitor needs to be like a lifeline, because I'm terrified that one day it will be gone and I'll find nothing but emptiness left in its place. Every night I sit in here, alone and that I might not be anyone. In the quiet of night, I turn to face myself and find nothing but the void."

She raised her head from her legs, searching for something from him - reassurance, comfort, something, _anything_ - and found him moving to embrace her again instead. She didn't have time to uncurl herself, but his arms were long enough to wrap around her, knees and all. He held her tightly, and he felt like strength and silence to her. A foundation to hold to in the storm, and the comfort of true silence, as though his touch had quieted the accusations of her mind, if only for this moment.

It was enough.

No, in the quiet and the emptiness, it was _everything_.

"I don't know if I have answers, Sylvanni," he said, still holding her tight. "Perhaps those are questions only you can find the solution to. But I will stay beside you as you search for them, as long as you wish me to be here. You don't need to be alone."

"You'll stay tonight?" The question was quiet, hesitant. She knew it was a selfish request, and one that would likely only cause trouble for both of them. If there had been rumors and whispers before, this would only throw fuel on the fire.

"Of course," he said. "As long as you need me."

She let him hold her for a while, then finally started to untuck her legs. He released her, letting her lay down and arrange herself in a sleeping position. He shifted so that he was out of her way, then moved close enough again to softly lay a hand on her back, rubbing a soothing pattern. Quietly he began to hum a song like a lullaby, and she recognized something familiar in the tune. It was the hymn those remnants of the Inquisition had sung after the Battle of Haven, that snowy night in the mountain passes.

She hadn't known the words when they'd sung then, and Cullen didn't sing any now, but the melody brought comfort. She felt she could remember what the song meant, if not what it said. Hope, even in the darkest of times.

She fell asleep feeling safe and whole in her own bed for the first time since this had all began.


	6. Deserving Better

Early the next morning, Sylvanni awoke to the sound of a soft knock on the door outside her rooms. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, then looked to the side, noticing that she wasn't alone. Cullen, still wrapped in his cloak and mantle, snored quietly in one of the plush chairs beside her bed. She smiled faintly, though she did feel guilty having kept him from his own bed last night. Still, he seemed comfortable enough and was sleeping soundly.

The quiet knocking came again, reminding her why she'd woken. Perhaps her more sensitive hearing had let her catch it, or perhaps Cullen was simply a sounder sleeper than her, for the sound didn't cause him to stir. She hadn't changed out of her clothes last night, so she stood up, stretched, and straightened the wrinkles from her shirt and trousers.

She walked over to find Leliana at the bottom of the stairs, on her way up. The knocks had been more of a warning than a request, it seemed. Sylvanni stepped back to let her into the chambers themselves.

"My Lady Inquisitor," Leliana said quietly. "Normally I would not have woken you so early, but I have a report I believe you will want to see as soon as possible." Her eyes flicked to Cullen for a moment and she smiled. "I had a feeling I might find him up here, though fully clothed and dozing in your chair is a pleasant surprise."

Sylvanni felt a blush rise to her cheeks at that comment, but she did her best to ignore it. "What was this report you wanted me to see? Should I wake the Commander as well?"

"I will leave sharing this information with him at your discretion, once you've seen. Let him rest for now." Leliana nodded toward one of the balconies, and Sylvanni followed her out, grabbing a coat as she walked to shield against the morning chill. Away from the sleeping Cullen, the two could converse at a more normal volume.

Leliana turned back toward her, pulling a sealed piece of paper from her sleeve. "You remember the request we received from your clan a few months ago? They told us they were under attack by bandits, yes?"

Sylvanni felt as though the stones had dropped out from beneath her feet. Thinking back to the moment she'd read the report on that mission sent her into a freefall just as surely, and the impact at the bottom felt no less painful than if she'd fallen to the courtyard below. Josephine had reached out to a nobleman in the area, Duke Antoine of Wycome, but he had been unable to help her clan in time. 'Scattered or killed.' The words of that letter had been seared into her mind.

Aloud, she answered hollowly. "It would be difficult to forget."

Leliana gave her a sympathetic smile. "Ah, yes. Well, something about the Duke's letter to us didn't sit quite right with me, so I sent a few of my agents out to investigate the situations. It was a feeling, an instinct, but I think you will be interested in what they found."

Sylvanni took the paper from her spymaster, breaking the seal and opening it up. As she scanned over its contents, Leliana summarized for her.

"It seems the bandits who attacked your clan were not bandits at all, but rather a mercenary group. They were _hired _to wipe out your clan, Inquisitor. My agents 'politely asked' a few of this band's members and it seems they are most likely in the employ of Duke Antoine himself."

Sylvanni took a long, controlled breath. _In, out. In, out. _"You mean to say, the person we asked to help save my clan…"

"...was likely the very person trying to kill them in the first place," Leliana finished.

"The person who _succeeded _in killing them," Sylvanni said through gritted teeth. For months, thoughts of what had happened to her clan brought only sadness. A bandit group was nameless, anonymous. It was a random tragedy, selfish humans putting their needs before the lives of others, and willing to kill in order to steal. It was horrible, but there wasn't anything she could have done about it.

Now, though? Now she had a name, had a _person _to blame for what had occurred. Finally, she had a target. This wasn't a random unfortunate event, it was murder. And she'd asked this man to help, which made it a betrayal on top of it all. Her sadness was still there, but beneath it, a righteous anger started to boil up. Hatred, disgust, _rage._

Leliana watched her as Sylvanni held the report in a white-knuckled grip. "There are signs that he may be working with the Red Templars or Venatori as well. Inquisitor, if you would like to take action against this man, I still have agents in the area. A few assassins among them, if you would like him killed for his crimes. Or they could 'acquire' him instead, bring him here to Skyhold for judgment."

Sylvanni folded the paper report stiffly, tucking it into her jacket. "No, they were my clan. I will deal with this Duke Antoine myself. They deserve that much." She turned, walking back into her quarters with a determined step. "Can you send down to the kitchens for rations? I'll pack my things here and plan to leave before midday, if possible."

The spymaster nodded, expression saying that she'd expected as much. As she stepped back inside, she glanced at Cullen, still sleeping in Sylvanni's chair. "Are you going to tell him where you are going, or would you like me to tell him something for you?"

Sylvanni felt a bit of her anger ebb away looking at Cullen, and for a moment, she hesitated. If he were leaving, she would have wanted him to wake her to tell her what was going on. But she hadn't even been able to bring up that her clan had been killed yet. She couldn't go through all of that with him right now. He deserved better than that, but she couldn't give it.

"I'll leave a note for him," she said, turning away. "If he asks, you can say I was called away on an urgent matter. It's true enough."

Leliana paused, then nodded. "If you like."


	7. Calls to Action

_Solas_

Servants had been set to packing supplies, rations were being gathered, and all in all, preparations were underway for Sylvanni's imminent departure from Skyhold. The only thing left for her to gather personally then, was the group she wished to take with her on this trip.

Solas looked up from the notes he was reading as she walked into his rotunda. "Inquisitor?"

"Solas, are you busy?"

He set his notes aside, giving her his full attention. "Nothing that cannot wait a while. How may I help?"

"An... urgent matter has come up and I would have you with me, of you're available." Too stiff, too formal. She could hear it in her own voice, and she knew why it was there. She was too emotional, too many feelings boiling beneath the surface. She was shutting down to try to keep in control, but she wasn't conveying normalcy as she did so.

Solas, perceptive as always, could tell. His eyebrows drew together in concern. "_Lethallan, _is everything alright?"

She took a deep breath. "It will be." She turned to go. "We leave at midday."

_Iron Bull_

"You look like a woman with a job," Iron Bull said as she approached, the Qunari's face splitting in a wide grin. "What's the plan, boss?"

He lounged in his chair on his side of the tavern, but Sylvanni didn't bother to sit. She was planning on making this quick. "I've gotten word of a nobleman who seems to be fond of committing atrocities and slaughtering innocents. Elves especially. Leliana believes he might be affiliated with Corypheus and the Red Templars, but his crimes warrant he be stopped and brought to justice, regardless of his reasoning or affiliation. I intend to see to him personally, and I don't have any plans on making it a pleasant experience for him."

Bull started stretching, as though he needed to prepare himself to stand. "Sounds like an asshole, boss. You want me to bring some 'unpleasantness' to this mission, I assume?"

Her lips pulled into a hard smile. The mercenary always _did _seem to provoke a rougher side from her. "I'm rather hoping you'll be able to terrify him into a faint, to tell the truth."

He laughed. "For you, boss? I'll make sure to scare him shitless."

_Sera_

Sylvanni didn't manage to finish walking up the stairs before Sera stopped her. "Hold it there," the archer said, raising a warding hand. "You got a face. Yeah, that one you're making at me right now. Something's wrong, and not just regular wrong, but like _really _wrong, innit? You look like someone who found their boots fulla mud this morning."

"Sera, I don't-"

"Yeah, you do. I'd know. I've filled someone's boots with mud before and they looked right like that when they found out. Besides, you been talkin' to Bull down there, and one of the serving girls said you were talking to Solas 'bout an hour ago, so I know you've got some kind of plan. And it's got something to do with you having mud-boot face, so I already don't like it."

Sylvanni could see that Sera had no intention of stopping anytime soon, so she simply folded her arms and waited for her friend to be done.

"That cute blonde in the kitchens with the nice backside said you're practically cleaning out the pantries with the amount of rations you're asking for, so this is gonna be a _long _journey, which normally I ain't got a problem with, but you're in this weird muddy-boots funk and I'm not feeling getting trapped in dumb boring conversations for weeks on the road with the egghead and the gray cow while you're being all broody, ya feel?"

Sylvanni gave a small sigh. For someone who spent about half of her conversations being nigh unintelligible, the archer was surprisingly perceptive. Perhaps that's just how friends were, though. "Sera, yes, something is wrong. But I'd like you to be one of the ones to help me come and fix it. I wouldn't ask you to join us if I didn't feel like it was important."

"Yeah," Sera said, pulling the word out into a long drawl, "but I'm just saying, if there were anyone else to do it, maybe you could go ask them first? It's not my fault you're acting all weird right now, and I don't really want to be around for weeks with you being weird. Sorry luv, but that's just-"

"It's about my clan," Sylvanni snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Sera paused for a moment, then her face slowly pulled into a grimace, as though she'd smelled one of Varric's socks. "Eugh, you know if you were tryin' to convince me, that's a pretty rubbish way to do it. Not really a fan of elfy elves you know, and well, _you're_ not bad, but Dalish are like the elfiest of elfy elves and I don't think-"

"They were murdered," Sylvanni said, voice flat.

Sera's mouth closed with a snap, and she blinked a few times. In the sudden silence, Sylvanni decided to continue. She hadn't been planning on telling her companions what this was really about until they were on the road, but conversations with Sera tended to take unexpected turns, she'd learned. Besides, she thought if Sera had found out on the road that this was about Sylvanni's clan, she might have felt as though she'd been tricked into coming or something.

"A nobleman near where they were camped," Sylvanni went on. "Slaughtered the whole clan. Everyone I knew before coming here is dead because of him. And the worst part?" Sylvanni shook her head slowly. "We asked him to _help _them. The Inquisition sent him a request for aid, and he had the gall to murder them all and then write back and tell us that there was nothing he could have done.

"So I'm going after him myself," she said, feeling her nails biting into her hands as she clenched her fists. "He won't get away with this. I know you don't like Dalish, but honestly, I just want to see the look on his face when Inquisitor Lavellan shows up at his doorstep with two other 'knife-ears' at her side and a giant Qunari mercenary at their back. Let that be the sight of justice he sees coming to make him pay for his crimes."

Sera was quiet for a while, thinking it over as her face cycled through various expressions of consideration. "Well… alright when you put it that way, not much choice, is there? Does sound like a bit of fun, huh. You know what this noble prick's problem is? Probably can't see how much of an arse he is. Lotsa dumb nobles in their fancy pants got the same problem, makes them kick down the real people. Couple 'a arrows through his eyes oughta help clear that vision right up, ya think?"

Sylvanni gave her a grim smile. "Sounds like a plan."


	8. Fear

Sylvanni had no intention of waiting to be announced. She pushed her way past a rather stunned looking steward in Duke Antoine's entryway, walking with a determined step farther into the house once the door was opened. The steward was left, bewildered, in her wake as he first tried to get her to stop, then settled on simply trying to keep up with her.

It had been a long journey. She'd waited long enough.

It was currently early evening, the sun setting outside, and Duke Antoine was in his dining room, enjoying an early meal. He was an oily looking man, unhandsome but not unfashionable. The table was set with an extravagant meal, even for nobility, despite the fact that he was the only person in attendance. The idea that a man who was so monstrous could live in such luxury turned Sylvanni's stomach.

Antoine looked up in surprise from his spot at the head of the table, spoon poised halfway to his mouth at the sight of three fully armored elves and a Qunari walking into his house as though they owned the place. Sylvanni looked into his eyes and saw confusion there. Worry perhaps, but not yet fear.

She planned to fix that.

The steward, much to his credit, managed to squeeze his way past the party only moments after they entered, giving the Duke a small bow. "Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, and companions, my Lord." He sounded only slightly out of breath.

_There _it was. Oh, he hid it well. Just a slight widening of the eyes, the barest hint of stiffness entering his posture, but she'd been watching for the reaction. Terror. She hoped the sight of her had made his heart leap into his throat. She hoped that his heart was racing. It was only natural. He _should _be afraid of her. She'd do far more to him before she was done.

Outwardly, at least, he maintained a good semblance of composure. He picked up the napkin from his lap, folding it on the table beside his silverware, but he gripped the fabric just a little too tightly. "My Lady," he said, giving a small still-seated bow in her direction. "Please join me at the table. You have no doubt traveled a long way. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company?"

She made no move to sit. "You may address me as Inquisitor Lavellan, Duke Antoine, or simply Inquisitor. My business here is personal, of course. After receiving your tragic correspondence regarding the fate of my clan, it seemed only fitting that I travel here, to mourn them and to express my gratitude to you."

He had the air of a cornered fox about him, wary and watching for an opportunity to strike. "Your gratitude?"

'Of course," she said. "For what aid you _were _able to give Clan Lavellan in this time. You were their last ally, the last person to work with those I called my own. In a way, I could consider you family for the service you provided to them." Saying the words made her want to gag, but she pushed through it.

"The Inquisitor is too kind," he said carefully.

"Yes, she is," Sylvanni said under her breath. She continued more audibly, covering the muttering with a small cough. "It is a rare misfortune that my entire clan should fall to something so disorganized as a group of bandits. Especially with your aid, is it not? A group of lawless thieves, able to overcome the combined forces of a Dalish clan and a Duke's retinue. They must be impressive indeed. How many men did you lose in their defense?"

"Very few, Lady Inquisitor," he said. "As I informed your ambassador in my letter, the problem was that my men arrived too late to help your clan, not that they were overwhelmed."

She gave a small nod and a smile that didn't touch her eyes. "Of course. My mistake. Tell me, did you march with your men? Or was Corypheus satisfied with you giving the order to exterminate a group of innocents without leaving the comfort of your own home?"

His eyes widened as her tone turned savage with the accusation, and he immediately started reaching for his sword. When she started to move forward, he stood and started calling for guards. She cast a spell without even thinking, stepping through the Fade in order to blink across the room. As she peeled back to reality, she used the momentum lent by the spell to shove the Duke back against the wall. His sword clattered to the floor as she pushed him back, cries for his guards cutting off with a strangled noise...

As a mage, she seldom found reason to use the dagger she carried in combat, but as Antoine stumbled backward, she found the small blade in her hand. She brought it up next to his neck with savage quickness, a quiet snarl escaping her lips. Her staff had a blade on the end, and it would have been sharp enough to threaten him, but she wanted to be _close_. She wanted him to look into her eyes as she forced him to yield, no room to breathe, no room to escape.

Behind her came the clanks and stomps of armored men entering the room, accompanied by a rather creative string of swears from Sera. From the sound of it, they were quite a crowd, but Sylvanni didn't turn to look. She simply held Antoine with her knife pressed against his neck, pinning him to the wall as much with a stony glare as with the knife blade.

"Inquisitor," Solas said calmly somewhere off to her left. "We appear to be both outnumbered and surrounded."

"These ain't house guards either," Iron Bull rumbled. "I know the look of mercs when I see 'em."

Sylvanni wondered if she should be surprised by how calm she felt, even with the odds against them if this inevitably turned to a fight. She wanted to believe that it was simple confidence in their skills, but if she was being honest, all she seemed to be able to care about was the Duke. So long as she had him trapped, little else seemed to matter to her.

She pushed her knife closer, and Antoine whimpered, flinching slightly as the blade made a small cut. "My dear Duke Antoine," she said in a voice that could have cut steel. "It seems that the 'bandits' who attacked my clan have come after you in the safety of your own home. Lucky that the Inquisition is here to protect you from them, isn't it?"

"Please," Antoine begged, breathing as shallowly as possible to keep her dagger from cutting him. "Have mercy, Lady Inquisitor."

"Mercy?" she snarled. "You have the audacity to ask me for _mercy_ after what you've done?"

"The men," he said. "Please, they were only following my orders."

She took a small step backward, extending her arm to keep the dagger at his throat. "I will consider that your confession."

Without warning, she whipped her hand up in front of her face, using the motion to focus a blast of spirit energy outward in all directions. The duke's head snapped backward as he was flung against the wall, collapsing into a slump as she whirled to face the room of mercenaries. Solas reacted immediately to her aggressive move, throwing up a barrier around the four of them. None too soon, either, as two of the mercenaries had been carrying bows. The conjured protection flared with light as it deflected two arrows from her, its magic weakening noticeably where they hit.

The dining room was not terribly large, but there was enough space to move around in at least. Sera was already letting arrows fly, each one finding their targets. Iron Bull let out a war cry, charging across the room as some four or five mercenaries converged on him. Solas had pulled out his staff and was incapacitating the archers from afar, and Sylvanni's first instinct was to join him, but she paused for just a heartbeat. Thoughts racing in the onset of a fight, she realized what she wanted to do.

Antoine groaned behind her, not unconscious, but certainly not in fighting condition either. She didn't want him to make him fear that he'd upset a mage using her arcane power, or even that he'd upset the Inquisitor using political power. She wanted him to know the fear of facing the Herald of Andraste, the only person who could stand against Corypheus.

The only person in Thedas with power to tear open the Fade.

Leaving her staff in the sheath at her back, she raised her arm, bracing the wrist with her other hand and felt her mark flash and spark as she drew power from it. A green light burst into being over the table as she brought the Rift into being. The screeching noise as reality was torn apart was almost deafening in the confined space. Men began to scream as the raw energy ripped into them. She was able to protect her companions from the spirit energy, in the same way she protected them from all of her spells, and the three of them paused, watching as her Rift incapacitated the entire room.

It didn't take long to finish. Opening Rifts like this was always brutally effective work. Just to be on the safe side, she waited until all of the mercenaries had stopped moving before finally releasing the Fade and letting the tear snap back closed again.

She slumped just slightly, the effort of holding the tear open for so long having drained her, then turned back to look at the Duke. He'd been outside the range of the Rift's effects, but he'd seen everything. He was shaking, face bloodlessly white and his expression seemed frozen in an open-mouthed gape. When her eyes fell on him, he flinched visibly.

_Good. As it should be._

"W-what… what are you g-going to do with me?" From the way his voice was shaking, Antoine might have been on the verge of tears. She considered that a personal victory as well.

Her eyes flicked to Bull, and she nodded for the Qunari to tie up Skyhold's latest prisoner. "You, Duke Antoine? You're coming with us."


	9. Movement on the Horizon

The upside to the hole in Cullen's ceiling was that it was easy to hear things going on outside. It was one of the reasons he gave when Josephine started pestering him to get the carpenters to fix it, though if he was honest with himself, he felt like it would be a waste to spend resources on his own comfort. The increased audibility was a perk though.

Especially when he'd been on edge waiting for word of Sylvanni for weeks.

"Movement on the horizon! Riders approach!"

The yell was muffled, but Cullen caught it, standing immediately. He walked out to the center platform in between the two front towers, taking a spyglass from one of the soldiers. The five riders were far out, but he could recognize her from here.

"It's the Lady Inquisitor," he called, collapsing the spyglass with a snap. "Open the gates!"

He handed the glass away, and hurried to the nearest set of stairs. All of Skyhold seemed to get caught up in an excited bustle as word of the Inquisitor's return spread. Cullen wanted to be there to meet her in the courtyard after whatever she'd been through. He'd managed to get Josephine to tell him what was really going on, because asking Leliana had been as fruitless as ever, but despite seeing a copy of the correspondence, he still couldn't quite believe it.

Her entire clan killed? And she hadn't said a word. To him or to anyone else, it seemed. How had she carried that alone, in silence? He feared she'd done it to protect him, because she hadn't wanted to bother anyone else with her problems. It still hurt, however, feeling like she didn't trust him enough. He told himself that probably wasn't it, but that didn't make his doubts go away.

He'd been worrying about her for weeks. For her safety on this trip, for the things she'd confessed that night before disappearing, and most prominently, for the pain she must have been feeling these past few months, alone and without reaching out. Whatever was really going on, they would sort through this. Now that he knew, he could help. As he watched her ride into the courtyard, however, something told him that this might be more difficult than he had first believed.

Sylvanni's eyes were not her own.

He pulled up short, pausing as a worried frown crossed his face. The face he knew so well almost seemed a stranger's. The warm, kind confidence he had come to expect from her was gone, and in its place he saw cold cruelty instead. Her gaze landed on him for a moment and her mask faltered, letting a hint of shame through the hard outer shell, but it was gone in a moment as she tore her eyes away.

She held the reins to another horse besides the one she was riding, and he saw that the rider there had had his hands tied to the saddle horn. It would seem she'd managed to find Duke Antoine after all. The Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas rode in behind her and the prisoner, falling into a light formation as the guards began to lower the gates again.

Sylvanni slipped from her saddle with customary grace, then walked over to see to the duke. A deft motion untied him from the saddle while leaving his hands still bound, and she all but dragged him from the horse, throwing him none-too-gently to the ground once he was detached. The duke attempted to break his fall, but tied wrists made the motion awkward, and he hit the cobblestones with a breathless grunt of pain.

A few of the guards hurried forward to grab him and haul him to his feet. Sylvanni gave a commanding nod in their direction. "Take the former duke down to the holding cells and let the guard there know she's to throw him in the least comfortable cell we have. He is to receive nothing but water and gruel until such a time as I can deign to deal with him."

The higher ranked of the two guards snapped a salute. "Yes, Lady Inquisitor."

Sylvanni handed the two reins she'd been holding off to a groom who stepped forward, then started pulling off her riding gloves. She picked out a runner as she walked toward the main hall. "Ser, please inform my Advisors that I've returned and that I would like to meet at the war table in fifteen minutes. I'll speak with them there."

The girl nodded, saluting as well. She gave a small glance toward Cullen, decided that he was probably exempted from that order, as he'd been close enough to hear the call himself, then she took off at a sprint to find Leliana and Josephine.

Cullen walked forward, falling into step behind Sylvanni. Something seemed to stiffen in her walk as he did so, but he pressed on. "I'm glad you've returned safely. Did everything turn out as you'd expected?"

She glanced his direction for half a heartbeat before forcing her eyes forward once more. "We're back, and we have him. That's all that matters."

He laid a hand on her arm, not liking the stiffness in her tone. "Sylvanni…"

She stopped, and he could feel her arm tense through the fabric of her coat, though she kept her eyes forward. "Commander, I would prefer to discuss these matters at the war table. Perhaps you should prepare any reports I may have missed in the meantime."

The formal address and dismissal felt like a slap, and he blinked, lowering his arm. "If you prefer, Inquisitor."

"I would. Thank you." Without looking at him, she resumed her purposeful stride, making for her quarters to change out of her travelling clothes, no doubt.

He stood in the entrance of the Great Hall, watching her walk away and trying to figure out what had just happened. He felt torn between worrying over the knowledge that something was very wrong with her, and the hurt from the harsh way she'd forced him away. Finally, he simply shook his head and quietly walked back to his desk to grab his papers.


	10. Safe, Not Sound

The wounded look on Cullen's face haunted Sylvanni all the way back to her quarters, all through the time it took her to change out of her armor, and for the walk back down to the war room. It wasn't fair to him, the way she'd acted, and she knew that. But she wasn't ready to let him back in yet.

She couldn't talk to him about what has happened, about what she was feeling after all of this. She'd been afraid of this on the road and she'd known as soon as she saw him. She was forcing her way through this by keeping an iron clasp on her emotions.

He would break her defenses, send cracks through her mask. He always did, and she loved him for that, but she _needed_ this mask for now. She still didn't know what to do with Antoine, despite having the entire trip back to think about it. She couldn't face Cullen until this was all over, one way or another.

Leliana and Josephine were already chatting quietly in the war room when she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Both paused their conversation to nod respectfully toward her as she entered.

"I was pleased to hear of your safe return, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "And congratulations on your successful acquisition."

"Inquisitor, I must convey my deepest apologies," Josephine said, clasping her hands together. "I feel so foolish to have suggested we reach out to Antoine. I had no idea of his true character, and I cannot help but feel that your loss is my fault."

Sylvanni held up a hand. "Don't blame yourself, Josephine. It was no one's fault but Antoine's, and I intend to see him pay for it."

The door's hinges squeaked behind her as Cullen entered the room. She turned briefly to watch him walk up to the table, a sheaf of papers under his arm. His expression was guarded as he nodded to her, and she forced herself to remember that this what she needed, for now.

There was a small pause as Leliana and Josephine - both of them far too experienced at reading people to miss the tension between their Commander and Inquisitor - assessed the situation. They were both as tactful as they were astute, and there was nary a reaction from either, but Sylvanni had no doubt that they'd figured it that something was going on.

"Have you decided how, exactly, you are planning to exact that payment from him, my lady?" Leliana asked.

Dozens of possibilities fluttered to life in Sylvanni's mind, the same thoughts she'd had trouble sorting through since she'd captured him cluttering her decision. She shook her head, as much an answer to Leliana as an attempt to clear the thoughts away. "Not yet," she admitted, "though for now, I think he will be fine sitting in that cell for a while." A thought occurred to her. "Leliana, you believe he may have had ties to the Red Templars or Venatori?"

"I did, Lady Inquisitor. My agents found traces of red lyrium in the wells around the city."

Sylvanni nodded thoughtfully. "See if your agents can get any intel out of him. Let them know they are authorized to use whatever methods they see fit, save killing him, to get answers."

Leliana nodded, but Cullen frowned. She steeled herself against his disapproval, telling herself that this was just, that Antoine deserved it, and it was a tactically sound decision. What right did he have to disapprove of her choice? She was the Inquisitor, and it was her call to make.

She found it difficult to concentrate through the rest of the reports, mind turning over the issue of Antoine and how she would reconcile with Cullen over this. Her judgment would come first, her duty to her clan and their memory, and then she could deal with her commander.

Now, if only she could figure out what to actually do with Antoine.


	11. Forcing Out Frustration

She had been wondering how long it would take before Cullen sought her out. She considered it either a testament to his restraint - or perhaps an indicator of how upset he was with her - that he managed to last a day and a half before coming to find her.

She was training with the sword again when she heard his footsteps behind her. She didn't stop to acknowledge him as he walked up, some illogical part of her brain hoping he might give up and leave her alone if she just kept at it long enough. He wouldn't, and she knew it, but she would hold out as long as she could at least.

While she'd called these exercises 'training' in her mind, it wasn't exactly the most truthful of appellations. There was nothing controlled or precise about the attacks she was using against this training dummy. She wasn't trying to perfect a form or keep her stance or improve much of anything, really.

She'd just wanted to hit something. Very hard. Repeatedly.

The practice sword struck the padded target over and over, each _thunk_ sending a satisfying jolt up her arm. It hurt. Her arms were sore and her palms stung, but there was just something that felt _right _about finally letting her aggression out on this. Her mind was still twisted up in complicated decisions, but with each hit, she felt like the knots loosened. If she could just spend enough time out here working through everything, perhaps she'd figure this all out.

"Your stance is off," Cullen said quietly behind her. "I know I taught you better than that, Inquisitor."

She paused, glaring at the dummy like this was its fault as she decided whether or not she wanted to give in and turn around. With a sigh, she lowered the dulled practice sword and faced him. She forced her expression to a passive, guarded calm. She had everything under control.

"To be honest, Cullen," she said, "I don't really want to talk about my clan and Duke Antoine right now. I don't really want to talk about anything at all, actually."

"As evidenced by your rather undiplomatic handling of your opponent," he said, nodding to her target. "Would you prefer we talk about swordplay instead?" He pulled out a practice sword of his own, tossing it lightly to adjust his grip. "Would you prefer an actual sparring partner?"

She eyed him, rubbing the hilt on her sword thoughtfully as she tried to figure out what his angle was here. He wanted to talk through everything with her, and she had a very good feeling he was hoping he could bring it up if they were together. An offer to spar was a way to break the ice.

The ice that she had specifically placed between them.

If she wanted to keep her distance, she knew she should say no. But she couldn't think of any way to refuse him without being outright rude or hurtful. Her isolation had been a choice made based on her concerns, not in response to anything he had done. She didn't want to hurt him any more than she already had, especially considering that this whole mess was her fault in the first place.

Besides, she was weak. She missed him.

So, instead of responding, she fell into the proper stance this time, raising her blade to him. He followed suit, and the two slowly began to circle. He stepped to meet her first, blades coming together in a simple swing and block. She returned an attack, letting him catch her sword as well. It wasn't a true sparring match. He was a master with decades of experience and she a beginner who had started a few months ago. A true fight between them would be as short as it was unproductive as a teaching tool. Instead, they simply traded blows in an even rhythm, back and forth. An attack, a defense, a slash, a block. Controlled steps and precise movements.

She focused on letting the motions become instinctive reactions. She wanted swordplay to eventually feel like spellcasting to her. Something she didn't need to think about, something she could simply _do_. However, she remembered the years of practice it had taken her to reach that point with her magic, and she knew it would likely take even longer before she became comfortable with the sword.

Cullen never pushed her too hard, never came at her too quickly, and yet she didn't feel like he was going too easy on her either. His pace was steady, but not too challenging. He kept her right at the edge of her skill. Of course, what was challenging for her was simple to him. Fending off his attacks took her full attention, but he probably barely needed to think about what he was doing.

"I'm not upset that you didn't tell me about your clan," he said, voice quiet and steady despite the physical exertion. "I was, at first. But it wasn't my business to know. I want you to know that I'm not angry with you for that."

She realized that this had most likely been his intention. Originally she had thought he would try to bring up the topic between bouts, but no such luck. By keeping her focus on the training, he had an advantage, an opportunity for conversation. Her defenses were lowered, like this. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing, and she didn't have near as much ability to get out of the conversation or keep him at bay the way she normally would.

"It wasn't that." The remark was punctuated with a small grunt as she was nearly too slow with a parry, his blow catching her wrist at an odd angle. Talking in the midst of this was manageable, but she couldn't let herself think too hard about it. "It's just… It happened so long ago, it seems. Months. We were back in Haven at the time, and I… I didn't have anyone. Yes, I was an ally of the Inquisition, but there was a part of me that still worried that I would be dragged away in shackles at any moment to stand trial for the murder of the Divine. I wasn't close to you then, not like we are now."

He pursed his lips. "Like we are now."

She frowned at that, feeling the comment like an accusation against the way she'd been treating him since she'd returned to Skyhold. It was deserved, she would admit, but it still hurt. She pretended to not have heard it.

"After that, there wasn't a good time to bring it up. Josephine knew because she'd been the recipient of the Duke's letter, and Leliana knew because she's Leliana, I assume, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything to anyone else. To be honest, I tried to avoid thinking about it. We had enough responsibilities to keep me occupied and… it hurt less that way."

She changed rhythm to execute a quick flurry of three strikes against him, each of which he blocked easily. A triplet amongst the quarter-note clangs they'd been tapping out thus far. "When Leliana found out Antoine was behind it," she continued, "I didn't have time to think about what I was doing. I just left. I couldn't think of anything other than getting ahold of him as quickly as possible. I know, I should have explained things to you, but I was afraid it would take too long. I was afraid that if I started to talk about what had happened, I would end up pulling myself back to where I was in Haven, and I didn't have the time or energy to put myself back there. I didn't _want _to go back to feeling like that. I thought if I could just push forward, just hold onto the purpose of apprehending Antoine, that that could be enough. But it was unfair of me to leave you in the dark in order to accomplish that."

He mulled her words over in silence, not breaking the cadence of their practice, though her flourish had encouraged him to make his maneuvers slightly more complex as well. _Hit, hit, hit-tap-hit, hit, hit, tap-tap hit. _"I understand," he said finally. "As I said, I'm not upset."

"About _that_, at least," she said, putting a little more force than necessary behind her next swing.

He gave her an even look, pausing just briefly to do so. An outside observer likely wouldn't have noticed, but within the steady pattern of the exercise, the hesitation stood out. "I'm not upset," he said slowly. "I'm worried about you. You haven't seemed like yourself since you returned."

Something about that phrasing pricked at her. She ignored the feeling, forcing her frustration out through the strikes. The _clangs_ grew louder as she put more force behind her movements, not even thinking about what she was doing. "I'll be fine," she said, voice hard. "This will all be over as soon as Antoine has been dealt with."

His eyes flicked to her sword, noting the increased aggression. "That's part of what I'm worried about. How are you planning on dealing with him exactly?"

"I don't know, okay?" Her tone slipped away from her by the end of that sentence, drifting towards a shout. She caught herself before she lost her temper, pulling in a slow, tense breath to try to calm herself down. She stepped back, breaking away from the exercise and lowering her sword. If they were going to have this conversation - and it seemed they unfortunately were - she needed her full attention. "I seem to remember explicitly saying that I _didn't _want to talk about this."

He lowered his sword as well. "Do you think it's something you need to talk about, though?"

His voice was calm and non-aggressive, but it sounded too much like a criticism for her to stomach. "Fine! Do you want to know what I really want to do?" The words were snapped and harsh, and deep down she knew he didn't deserve to be treated like this, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "I want him to _suffer_. I don't want him simply pried at for information; I want him punished, _thoroughly_. I want to be the one holding the knife while I make him feel every bit of pain that he put my clan through. I want him to feel the pain he put _me _through. Until it's more than he can endure, until he begs for the death he deserves. And when I finally grant it, I want him to know it is out of no sense of mercy, and only because his death serves to remove the stain of him from the world."

She was breathing heavily by the end of her tirade, far more than the training would have justified. She wanted him to be mad at her for shouting, wanted him to yell back. To parry her verbal strike as he did with the physical, and return one of his own against her. A different kind of sparring through which she could let her frustration out.

But he didn't deflect this attack, he didn't raise his defenses against her. His expression held nothing but concern, and that fact only served to frustrate her further. She'd thrown everything she'd had into it, and he hadn't raised a finger to stop this blow, taking the full brunt of her anger and offering no retaliation. She felt awful, guilty for losing control, but the stronger part said that he'd pushed her into this conversation, that she'd _told_ him she needed to be alone and he'd dragged this out of her. It was unquestionably her fault, but all she could feel was that it was his.

"Sylvanni," his voice was gentle, but she would have preferred if he'd shouted at her.

She held up her hands, tearing her eyes away from him in a wave of ashamed anger. "No, no I can't do this. I'm sorry, but I'm done training for the day."

She dropped the practice sword to the stones with a jarring clatter, knowing it was a childish move, but she needed to be _away _from here, away from him. As she turned to stalk away, she saw him reach forward, as if he might clasp her arm and hold her back, keep her there where he could help her work through everything she was facing. She knew he wished to help fix what she was going through, just as he'd done before, to correct her stance on this just like he had with the sword. A part of her wanted to let him, to let him work through all the adjustments her mind needed to make until she felt steady on her feet once more.

But he pulled back, hesitating just as he had before, and for once she was glad for it, leaving him behind without a backwards glance.


End file.
